Shadows Beneath the Crown

CHAPTER 3: PUNISHMENT AND SILENCE

The soft murmur of footsteps echoed down the west corridor, where the morning light filtered through stained-glass windows, casting patterned hues across the marble floor. I walked beside Lira, our pace unhurried, the scent of fresh polish and distant flowers lingering in the air. The hallway was quiet—the kind of quiet I always wished I could carry with me.

My arms still ached from scrubbing dishes before sunrise, but Lira insisted we take a longer route to the dining hall.

“You need fresh air. Or at least sunlight that doesn’t bounce off stainless steel,” she said with a sideways glance.

I managed a small smile. “Sunlight doesn’t change much. Everything feels the same here.”

Lira made a soft sound of disagreement. “That’s only because you’ve been stuck in the shadows too long.”

We passed by an indoor courtyard where a few Silver Tier students lounged lazily under silk-draped umbrellas, sipping citrus water like royalty. Their laughter was hushed, polished, like everything they did—intentional and rehearsed.

Lira glanced at them, then at me. “You’re too quiet lately.”

“I’m always quiet,” I replied.

“No, this is different,” she said gently. “You don’t even sketch anymore. Not in the corners of your notebooks. Not on napkins. It’s like… you’ve stopped making space for yourself. I just got back suddenly you became like this again. Being sad and not so motivated.”

I didn’t know how to answer that. Maybe because she was right. Or maybe because I’d already forgotten what it felt like to take up space without apologizing for it.

“I still dream,” I said quietly. “That’s something, right?”

Lira’s hand brushed mine, a silent gesture of reassurance. “That’s more than enough.”

As we turned the final hallway toward the dining hall, the scent of food grew stronger—warm bread, roast vegetables, and spiced tea. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until then. But the hunger in my chest wasn’t for food.

I wanted peace. Just one day without whispers, stares, or invisible bruises.

The doors to the hall swung open, and the noise greeted us like a wave—laughter, clinking silver, the scrape of polished shoes. We stepped in, careful not to draw attention, moving along the edges like shadows.

“I’ll bring the bread baskets to Table Six,” Lira said. “You carry the goblets?”

I nodded. “Got it.”

The crystal goblets sat stacked on a narrow trolley by the wall, their polished surfaces gleaming under the chandeliers. I reached for the top row, careful, slow. My fingers trembled slightly, more from nerves than weight.

Across the hall, Clarisse and Genevieve were seated at a round table, tossing their hair back in synchrony, surrounded by a small circle of adoring Silver Tier girls. I didn’t need to hear their voices to know they were already watching me.

Just keep walking. Head down. Focus.

I gripped the tray tightly, heart knocking against my ribs, and began to walk—past the ornate buffet table, past the long line of clattering dishes. Lira had already made it to her station.

I was nearly there. Almost.

Then—

A bump.

A foot.

Something.

The trolley jolted—just slightly—but enough.

The tray slid. A sickening chime of cascading glass filled the hall.

Shatter.

It rang louder than anything I’d heard all day.

Dozens of heads turned. Silence followed. The kind of silence that cuts.

I stood frozen, staring at the broken goblets scattered like starlight across the white tiles. Every breath felt like a scream caught in my throat.

“She did it!” Genevieve’s voice rang out, sharp with theatrical horror. “She just threw them down!”

Clarisse gasped with mock concern. “She wasn’t even looking where she was going.”

Lies. Obvious lies. But no one said otherwise.

Not at first.

Then—

“No,” Lira’s voice rang clearly from behind me. “That’s not true.”

She marched toward me, eyes blazing. “I saw everything. Belle didn’t drop those. The trolley wheel caught on the uneven tile—”

“She’s covering for her friend,” Clarisse interrupted smoothly, eyes fluttering as if bored. “How sweet.”

Professor Danton arrived quickly, his shoes echoing against the silence.

“What is going on?” he demanded.

Alara faced him without flinching. “Belle is innocent. I’ll testify. There are cameras in this hall. Check them.”

Danton looked at the broken glass, then at me—then, surprisingly, at the far end of the room.

Where he stood.

Orion.

Again.

Silent, still, like a statue carved from frost and stone.

He was watching. Just as he had yesterday.

Headmaster Varion stepped forward beside him.

“There will be no punishment until a full review of the footage,” he announced. “For now, resume your duties.”

Still, the whispers had already begun.

I bent to pick up the pieces—cutting my finger in the process. I didn’t wince.

When I glanced up, I saw him. Still watching. Orion Leonhart.

And for one breathless second, we locked eyes.

There was no coldness there.

But I couldn’t read what I saw.

Not pity.

Not curiosity.

Just... silence.

And that, somehow, made it worse.

--------------------

Later that afternoon, when the sun had dipped low and painted the academy walls with soft amber tones, I sat quietly in my dorm room—knees tucked into my chest, a small bandage wrapped around my cut finger. The events from the dining hall looped endlessly in my head like a cruel song on repeat.

A loud knock startled me.

Then came the sound of familiar frustration.

“Belle, open up. I swear, I’m going to strangle someone.”

I stood and opened the door, revealing Lira—her auburn curls wild from the wind, her eyes narrowed with unfiltered anger. She barged in without waiting.

“Did they punish you?” she demanded immediately.

I shook my head. “No... Headmaster said they’ll review the cameras.”

“Good. Because if they tried to make you clean every floor in this school, I’d dump a mop bucket on Clarisse’s head myself.”

I smiled faintly. “You’d get detention.”

“I don’t care,” she huffed, tossing her canvas bag onto my bed. “Here. I was going to save this for later, but I’m too annoyed to wait.”

She pulled out a small box wrapped in brown paper and tied with gold string.

“I bought this in the town market. Tiramisu mochi. Just like i promise i will buy something delicious.”

I blinked in surprise. “You remembered?”

“Of course I did. But now it’s mine. I’m stress-eating it because of your bullies,” she declared, flopping down onto my bed with dramatic flair.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Fine. You get three pieces.”

“Five.”

“Four.”

“Deal.”

We sat side by side, slowly chewing the soft, sweet mochi in silence. It was warm, in a way that nothing else today had been. I didn’t realize how tightly I’d been wound until Lira leaned her head against my shoulder.

“They’re awful, Belle,” she muttered. “Those girls. They make everything feel... rotten. Its even worse they are your step sisters.”

“I know,” I said softly.

We sat side by side on my bed, the mochi box between us, slowly working our way through it as the sky outside turned a shade darker. The sweetness dulled the sting of the day just enough.

Then Lira suddenly sat up straight, as if a switch had been flipped.

"Belle."

"Hmm?"

“I forgot to say this earlier—did you notice he was watching you?”

I blinked. “He?”

Lira looked at me like I’d missed something obvious. “Orion. The Silver Tier guy. Tall. Dark-haired. Walks like he owns the air around him.”

I hesitated. “I... think he was just looking at the scene. Not me.”

She narrowed her eyes at me like she didn’t believe a word. “Girl. No. He was looking at you. Like, full-on staring. Not the ‘curious bystander’ kind. The ‘who hurt you and why do I feel like avenging you’ kind.”

I choked on a laugh. “You’re exaggerating.”

“I am not!” she said, shoving another piece of mochi into her mouth. “And let’s talk about the real issue here—why does he look like that? Like... that. That jawline could cut glass. His eyes? Stormy. Distant. Mysterious. Like a brooding prince from those novels I read at night.”

“You mean the ones with names like The Tyrant’s Cold Gaze?”

“Exactly! He’s the main lead, Belle. He’s the ice prince with a tragic past. He probably has a sword hidden somewhere under that uniform.”

I laughed so hard I nearly dropped the box.

“Okay, okay, calm down,” I said. “You’re totally fangirling.”

“I have every right to,” she said with mock pride. “Do you know how dead this school is when it comes to hot guys? And then he walks in like some walking prophecy.”

I shook my head, still smiling. “You’re unbelievable.”

“But admit it,” she said, nudging me. “He’s hot.”

I paused. My mind went back to that moment—his eyes meeting mine across the room, quiet, unreadable.

“Yeah,” I said softly. “He is.”

And yet… something about that look had unsettled me. Like he saw more than he was supposed to. Like he was meant to see.

The thought lingered long after Lira had flopped back onto my bed with a content sigh.